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If you said one word to my lass " "No, Father. You don't understand. I found a camp of whiskey-traders, and I stole up and smashed four-five kegs. I meant to slip away, but this man caught me. When he rushed at me I was afraid so I slashed at him with my knife. We fought." "You fought," her father repeated. "He didn't know I was a girl not at first." The buffalo-hunter passed that point.
She had all youth's capacity for passionate indignation and none of the wisdom of age which tempers the eager desire of the hour. These whiskey-traders were ruining her people. More than threescore Blackfeet braves had been killed within the year in drunken brawls among themselves. The plains Indians would sell their souls for fire-water.
"You make trouble for my brother Fergus. He was stabbed by a Piegan brave who did not know what he was doing. Fergus is good. He minds his own business. But you steal away his brains. Then he runs wild. It was you, not Fergus, that shot Akokotos. The Great Spirit knows you whiskey-traders, and not my poor people who destroy each other, are the real murderers."
When she spoke there was the throb of contemptuous anger in her voice. "It's a great thing to be a man." "Like to crawfish, would you?" She swung on him, eyes blazing. "No. I don't ask any favors of a wolfer." She spat the word at him as though it were a missile. The term was one of scorn, used only in speaking of the worst of the whiskey-traders.
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